


Bree

by theministerskat



Series: Kat's Other Outlander Tales [6]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, other outlander tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 09:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theministerskat/pseuds/theministerskat
Summary: Roger tries to escape the pain and heartache he feels when he thinks he has lost Brianna for good.





	Bree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a picture prompt submitted to @otheroutlandertales by @scotsmanandsassenach over on Tumblr: Someone finds the photo Roger keeps in his wallet. The picture is below.

_He balled up the sheet again and threw it at the dresser. It bounced off the edge of the silver picture frame and fell to the carpet._

_“You could have told me straight,” he said aloud. “So you_ did _find someone else; you were right then, weren’t you? You were wise, and me the fool. But could you not be honest, ye lying wee bitch?”_

_He was trying to work up a good rage; anything to fill the emptiness in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t helping._

_He took the picture in its silver frame, wanting to break it to bits, wanting to clutch it to his heart. In the end, he only stood looking at it for a long time, then put it down gently, on its face._

_“So sorry,” he said. “Yeah, so am I.”_

_-Drums of Autumn, Chapter 30_

* * *

 

__

* * *

 

He sat down hard on his small bed, the springs of the mattress groaning under his weight. He wanted to be angry with her, wanted to blame her for the anguish that was coursing through him.  

 

But she had warned him of this - the chance of someone else fitting into her life more seamlessly than he. His mind conjured an image of her in the arms of a faceless man. He felt his heart constrict at the notion of someone else discovering the freckle hidden behind her ear, eliciting the small giggle that transformed into a sigh of contentment as he kissed it.

 

She had said she loved him. It was written in the dozens of letters she had sent him, emanated from her every time they were together. And that night in Inverness, the way she had pulled him into her and kissed him as the fog rolled over the river.

 

She had expressed her wariness of fully committing to him then, but he thought they had moved beyond any doubt since that moment. It had been over a year ago. All this time he had studied her, every little action, the things she said, culminating in the belief that she was finally sure of her feelings for him, of the two of them together. He had never truly considered the possibility that it might not be forever for her. But once again it was only he who had been certain.

 

He ran a hand through his hair, a small habit he had developed as of late. It was slightly too long, but she had always liked it that way. A memory of her running her fingers through his hair overtook him and he felt his stomach clench. She had laughed at the way the waves would stick out around his ears at this length. Her fingers brushing along his jaw and lingering, igniting his skin beneath them. She had pulled him down to her for a kiss, and he had felt her smiling the entire time his lips were on hers.

 

He shook off the ghost of her touch. He couldn’t stand to stay in his small flat alone with memories of her in every corner. Taking a deep, settling breath, he made to leave. He grabbed his coat from the hook, threw it on, and slammed the door behind him.

 

He gave Martin a small nod of acknowledgment as he walked through the vestibule, not wanting to stop and have the porter ask him about _his_ American lass _._ She hadn’t only charmed himself with her smile and warm demeanor, but everyone in his life that he had introduced her to. He would have to extricate her from his life, explain to everyone why the fiery redhead wouldn’t be visiting again. But he couldn’t do it just yet, not so soon.

 

He headed out to the street. It was still cold in Oxford for late April, and the dampness in the air had him pulling his mac tight around him. He paused on the pavement, trying to decide where he could go to avoid the memories of her lurking in all the familiar places, ready to take him unawares again.

 

Settling on the King’s Arms, he turned to head up Broad Street. They had frequented many of the bars near Balliol during her visits - sitting close together in corner booths, the whisky not the only thing warming their insides - but they had never ventured into the KA together. It was well enough with him now, having someplace he could go that held no connection to her.

 

The old bar was crowded for a Thursday night, filled with students and professors alike, looking for a reprieve from exams and their end of term assignments. He quickly glanced around but didn’t recognize anyone from his department. It was a relief, in all honesty. He wasn’t feeling up for small talk, and being asked what he planned to do over the summer holiday would only sting knowing he wouldn’t be seeing her.

 

After sidling his way through a gang of Wadham students, he was able to snag a spot at the bar. He tossed his coat over the back of the raised seat and leaned forward trying to catch the barman’s eye. Once he had it, he answered the questioning lift of an eyebrow with a simple, “Whisky, neat.”

 

He absentmindedly scanned the pub as he waited for his drink. There was a disconnect between his brain and eyes, not picking up on anything in particular - until he suddenly did. She was looking straight at him, her head slightly tilted to one side, appraising him. She was beautiful in a simple way, long blonde waves flowing over her shoulders, her dark eyes warm and inviting. When they met his, she gave him a sly smile that sent a jolt of heat careening through him. Disturbed by the unexpected feelings her look was eliciting in him, he turned back towards the bar to find his drink awaiting him.

 

The first tumbler went down easy, but not as easily as the second and third. The whisky began having its desired effect on him. The hurt and loss that he had felt earlier morphing into the indignation that he had longed for back in his flat. To have given her so much, to have put himself completely at her mercy, only to have it all discarded so quickly, ripped from him so easily, was unlike anything he had felt before. He finally allowed himself to be angry about it, and her desertion cut through him like a knife.

 

He had thought some of the relationships he had had over the years were serious, but nothing had compared to the way he had felt with her. To start over now with someone else felt a betrayal of what he'd had with her and he wished the very thought of it away, though he knew it was something he had to face. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find someone else; he often caught the giggles of his female students as he passed them in the hallway between lectures, or the way the demeanor of the women in his department changed when he would mention a trip to visit his girl across the Atlantic. But to find someone else that would challenge him in all the ways she had, spark the emotions he felt with her, seemed an unearthly task.

 

He finally looked up, taking in the bar patrons around him once again. The fact that he was scanning the room for the woman he had seen earlier didn’t escape him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to admit to himself. The crowd had begun to thin, and he noticed she was no longer at the table she had been at when he had first arrived.

 

He didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief that he was feeling when a hand on his arm made him start. He looked up, his eyes connecting with dark brown. Her hand didn’t move as she lowered herself into the seat next to him and casually asked, “Buy me a drink?” Without overthinking it, he nodded and signaled for the barman to bring another round.

 

Conversation flowed easily between them; they kept it light, perfunctory. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way she was smiling at him, but he felt his insides burning. He could give himself this, the comfort of someone else, someone new, with no history weighing them down. Her body language was encouraging. The way her hand lingered on his thigh to steady herself as she leaned forward, overcome with laughter at a bad joke he had made. The way she leaned into him, her cheek brushing against his, as she spoke into his ear, making sure he heard her over the crowd around them.

 

He lost count of how many drinks they shared, but he felt free, invigorated. He turned to look at her again, and as if it were happening in slow motion, he watched her shift in her seat, leaning closer than before, and with a whirl of blonde hair, he felt her lips on his. He felt the whisky in his blood mix with adrenaline and the momentary shock quickly subsided as he found himself pulling her closer to him, deepening the kiss between them.

 

After several long moments, she pulled back from him. “Want to get out of here?” It was hard to hear her over the ringing in his ears, but her question immediately snapped him out of his haze. His voice was unexpectedly hoarse when he finally said yes, and instantaneously he felt his stomach knot. “I’ll be back,” she said and he nodded, watching her walk back over to the table where he had first seen her sitting earlier in the night.

 

He signaled to the barman for his tab and he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled through the notes. He was counting out the appropriate sum when he suddenly felt his fingers brush over thick, glossy paper. He sobered drastically as he pulled the photo out and looked down at it.

 

It was a casual shot, taken during one of their day trips out in the countryside of the Highlands. He had snapped it as she had turned away from him, and it captured every essence of her perfectly. Every emotion he thought he had buried over the last several hours came rushing back to him. His willingness to completely abandon her, abandon them, made him feel like a fool. She hadn’t said it was over; she was always straightforward with him, with everyone. Why had he been stupid enough to think she’d call off things between them in any other way?

 

“ _Bree_.” He said only her name, but he knew it was meant to be a plea for forgiveness.

 

Without a second thought, he threw several large notes onto the bar top, grabbed his jacket, and hurried out into the night, Brianna’s photo clutched tightly in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this story.
> 
> If you would like to submit a prompt to Other Outlander Tales or check out any of our other stories, you can do so by visiting me and the other mods over on Tumblr at otheroutlandertales.tumblr.com.


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